Winter in Berlin
by KayosHybrid
Summary: Germany had just surrendered to tha Allies, but even so Ludwig finds that he is still exposed to post-war dangers of enemies hellbent on punishing him as consequence for his actions. Alternate ending.
1. Chapter 1

I'm a great supporter of MotherlandxFatherland! I really need to do more with these two, but Russia is so new to me to write. As usual it has suggestive/dark themes. This is an alternate ending fic also, even though its sorta historically accurate.

Enjoy!

* * *

For any nation, seasons were like fluctuating days of a particularily eccentric week.

So winter came and went just as naturally, and nations were unperturbed by its coming and going. Even nations whose childhoods remained a little loose in the details thanks to a brother who neglected trips to Memory Lane. And Germany was no stranger to the season of winter. But it did not prepare Ludwig, suffering silently in his house – whose windows were blown inwards from the shells – for the harshness to come.

This winter following his defeat had a different feel to it. The sour taste in his mouth from his daily treatment from the others, the exhaustion in his bones as he fought for his recovery – these may had contributed. The fact there were no festivals full of crafts and hot beverages, and there was no lingering smell of freshly baked bread glazed with sugars or packed with fruit. The fact he had to gaze out of empty windows, shattered glass crunching under his feet, a few shards of shell-metal occasionally hiding in the mix.

The fact that there were no parades of chest-swollen men, fathers and sons, breasts glittering with awards. No longer was Ludwig required to have active tactical and logistical contribution, no longer had a duty that was emblazoned on flags or banners.

Maybe the fact his house was riddled with intruders, unwelcomed but unchallenged, and suddenly the Vaterland seemed an awful lot more empty than it used to be.

And his brother was gone. Taken. Dead? Ludwig didn't know, but it wrenched at his insides. His only friend, stolen, had turned his back, had run away again. Would he ever get to see him again? His other ally…communication had been severed, and he was too far away now. All his other allies? Not so far but just as distant, just as segregated.

Was it any of this, was it loneliness that made this winter particularily bitter? Was it the blisters on his hands or the bandages on his body that were more frequently falling from his body from blood and dirt than actually being replaced?

Ludwig, standing alone but always watched, cast a steely gaze out over his capital. No. This winter had been born somewhere foreign, had been bred to wield claws. The chill in the air bit and gnawed at his face, slipped inside his torn clothes invasively to spread itself deeper.

"What are you doing standing there?" _Kraut_. Came a demanding curtness just inside the room.

He gripped the handle of his shovel, worn from the months of clearing, the last thing in his hands before the thin quilt of his bed. He ignored the Englishmen.

Arthur's presence had always had made unorthodox feelings inside him stir. His characteristic rudeness and distain used to irk him, like a softer-mannered Romano. But back when he was trying to be Great, Arthur had always been the last one he had wanted to cause lasting damage to. And as usual, Arthur's viciousness to him had never been more than namecalling and supporting Francis during both of Ludwig's efforts. Nowadays he was too weary to even acknowledge the hidden abuse in the words directed at him. With a huff and a few swears, the Englishmen left.

Left back alone Ludwig could center his attention to his surroundings. His thoughts wandered back to the world around him as he felt uneasiness that made his skin tingle from something other than cold, made everything seem sharper in his vision. His jaw set, glaring now as he listened to the wind moan as it whistled through the skeletal capital, catching inbetween the ribs of buildings and calling out with a gentle melancholy. The sound was alien to Ludwig, who tensed, having never experienced such a winter, the grip on his shovel becoming almost defensive. This feeling was bizarre; how could this winter be so brutal yet _so sad_…..

Ludwig heard glass crunch behind him, and just as he raised the digging tool in his hand and whipped around on instinct, something collided brutally with his temple and everything went white.

_Ludwig stumbled downstairs, each step very much a slope instead of an individual component of a staircase. His legs shook with effort, and his vision was swimming, which Ludwig decided firmly was from the blood seeping from his head and the dizzyness thereafter. Upstairs was his room left in the state he had been found him, himself flanked by the Allies escorting him down the hall. The Allies themselves looked rough, the signs of war not leaving them out. But, Ludwig thought distantly, they didn't compare to the injuries marring his body, or the sudden profuse bleeding from his head – the sound of a Luger still ringing in his ears even though it was tucked under his mattress and he was still alive._

_They bodily wrestled him into a room of his house which was suffering the least destruction, and forced him into a chair. Much to his surprise he was not bound or held down, but instead the Allies left with complaints in his direction, running for a radio to transmit their victory._

_The door closed behind him. Ludwig took advantage of this alonetime to gather himself, suddenly the shame of his appearance and his situation becoming unbearable for a split second as it hit him. He rubbed furiously at his face to ride of the tears and the saliva, wiping his hands hurriedly on his trousers before realising he was very much visible. He gasped to himself in outrage at having not noticed, blinking the stupor from his eyes as he shakingly did up his pants and tugged his braces back onto his shoulders._

_Hands went to his knees and he breathed out with a shudder. The pounding had left his head, just the steady bleeding on the edges of his vision. Two outstanding figures of his existance were gone, disappeared or dead, just like that. He was tired, so very tired, but he had his people to think of. Even in unconditional defeat, he wasn't going to give those bastards an inch of leeway._

_He still ached from his encounter with Him. Still felt the lingering, fresh sensation of filth. And of abandonment. He gripped his hands into fists in his lap. Ludwig scowled. Now he had a whole new war to wage._

_He heard the door behind him open and close. Nothing. No taunts. Maybe they were deciding instead to just glare holes into his back. But still, very odd for people who shared such a passionate hatred for him. Ludwig tried not to pay attention to the foreign hesitation as he turned, his gaze tentative and on the floor first – his subdued mannerism ending when he remembered he was not going to be saved. His glacier eyes shot up in askance of who was watching him in silence._

_A giant loomed there and for a second Ludwig was intimidated from his lowered sitting position. Larger booted feet stepped forward curiously towards him, and a rusty pipe dragged on the concrete. The sound made all the hairs on Ludwig's arms and neck stand on end._

_Out of the gloom came a cheerful, distant expression. "I got here first! I fought and fought, I didn't think I would, but I got here first!"_

_Ivan. Tall and demented, and Ludwig was in no state to be left alone with him. Maybe the Allies had stepped back on purpo—_

_A backhanded strike across the face forced the weakened man from the chair onto a knee, grunting in effort to remain there, before a steel-toed boot found his navel. Ludwig rolled onto his back and wheezed, hoping for a minute respite to be filled with the Russian's unhinged comments. But instinct seized him and he rolled sharply to the side, and an awful sound of hollow metal jarring violently off concrete inches away savaged his ears. _

_Ludwig should have known. He should definitely have anticipated such a sudden attack ( which he had thankfully just narrowly avoided).This was Ivan they were talking about. Ludwig gritted his teeth and set his face in determination – like hell he wasn't going to retaliate!_

_Not allowing this abuse without a degree of fight, Ludwig kicked out with a furious shout and caught Ivan in the knee. Had the force been directed with focus and with more strength, the Russian would have been in danger of having his leg broken inward. But in this situation it simply made him loose his footing, and Ludwig took this opportunity to scrabble to the wall and use it as purchase to get to his feet. He felt that bastard pipe connect with his thigh, then his ankle, and with recoiled leaps to avoid the blows Ludwig yelped and spat abuse. But before he could even turn fingers gripped his hair so hard he felt some of it get torn out, and with a cry Ludwig's face was smashed into the wall. Blood gushed from his brutalised nose and his head rebounded, only for the action to be repeated. Ludwig had the sense to force his head a little sideways before this happened, sparing himself the agony of having his nasal cartilage being crushed backwards into his skull and having his breathing permanantly crippled – only to be sure Ivan might have fractured his cheekbone._

_His face was ground there, and the agony of the hairline fracture being crushed against concrete made Ludwig emit an escalating yell. He tore himself from Ivan's grip, turning around and punching him clean in the face. No sooner had his fist returned back into his personal space did Ludwig see he had triggered some real anger, seeing the smile disappear for a fraction of a second. By then the damn pipe had been pressed to the wall by both hands, the bar pushing against his throat as he wrestled with it to breathe._

_The pressure eased so that Ludwig was allowed to wheeze and emit tiny sounds of agony, blood still seeping into his mouth, dripping down his chin and over the curve of the pipe on his neck. This seemed to calm the enormous man, who regarded the smaller nation fondly._

"_Hmm, you always did have fight in you. Gilbert was always the same. But he's mine now and things that are mine do as they are told." Ivan mused aloud, freeing a hand to stroke through flazen strands, lingering over the bleeding in his forehead. Ludwig tried to protest but the pipe was pressed further and he couldn't speak._

"_You're very bad, Ludwig," Ivan went on, intense gaze settled back onto his. "Very bad. Do you know what you have done? So many bad things. Bad people need to be punished, da? Your brother, that Italian, even Kiku. But you the most."_

_Ludwig's struggles started all over again with renewed energy, writhing and wrenching, his efforts fruitless and met only with soft petting and encouraging coo's. The contradicting attention disorientated him, tickling a state of mind reserved only for when He was home. Noticing this, Ludwig looked up at the demented Russian, trying to gauge what to do. Just like before, Ludwig was too weak to struggle. Just like before, _he_ was taller and armed. Just like before, _he_ was not afraid to be cruel._

_For a moment Ludwig was too shocked to move. But then it turned into outrage. He snarled and shoved fiercely at the body trapping him._

"_Get off of me!" Ludwig roared, throwing all his strength into shoving Ivan back. He quickly set his body against the wall for support before throwing Ivan away from him, escaping the pipe's deadly grip and dashing around the monster of a man. _

_His muscles protested but rage and survival had pumped his body with the last of his adrenaline, making straight for the wooden chair in the middle of the room and gripping onto the headrest. One good swing should fell the damn Russian! The wooden headrest where he gripped it wheezed a little in protest to his grip and he got into an appropriate stance. _

_Just as he began to turn the pipe connected with the back of his head._

_The pain bloomed over his skull. Enveloped it, took hold, swept like bloody fog to obscure the entirety of his vision. The adrenaline faded, his knees gave out. He fell awkwardly onto his hands and knees with a late groan, blinking lethargically and trying to figure out that it was the floor he was staring at. _

_The pipe clattered to the ground. He turned his head in its direction, bemused. There was a wrenching crack, and he felt splinters on his face. Huh. Turned out the chair had been bolted down. Before he could wonder why the pipe was on the floor, the chair was brought down onto his back with the loud snap of wood splintering and Ludwig yelled. The breath was driven out of him and Ludwig wheezed as he collapsed into the concrete, littered with pieces of the broken chair. The top half where it had been gripped dropped down beside him and Ivan retrieved his pipe._

_Ivan circled the collapsed man curiously, watching him cough with the dust on the floor, too damaged to move._

"_This is just like before, da?" The voice floated and circed above, like a predatory poltergeist._

"_You took and took, were so sure you could keep taking, thought you were invincible. You tried to take from me. So naughty." There was a definite cruel-edged purr this time, but Ludwig stirred. Stalingrad…_

"_It really was quite bad," Ivan continued, twisting his lip a little in thought. "It really was quite grim towards the end of it. The General always was like that."_

_He turned on his heel and circled in the other direction._

"_I thought we were friends. But you betrayed me. Hurt me. Hurt those around you."_

_Ludwig groaned on the floor, but Ivan carried on, almost talking to himself now._

"_It was so interesting too! You started being so ruthless! I didn't know you really had it in you, but I don't blame you at all. Some things just really are too tempting, aren't they?" The giant man swung the head of the pipe into his open palm with a cheerful, light laugh. He carried on circling as he continued._

"_And little Italia, he must've been such a burden, such an annoyance. I'm surprised you didn't turn on him sooner, make him a perfect subordinate. Probably would have done anything you asked," Ludwig felt his stomach roil. "If he hadn't technically become an Ally, I would have wanted to become one with him, da?"_

_Ludwig wanted to end this sick tirade. But he felt sick himself and far too disorientated, blinking stupidly at his sideways-view of the floor. And he feared the Russian would start to build a faster tempo and excite himself._

"_And now you see! The consequences of your selfish little actions. Everyone is dead! I can see it on your body…and everyone else is starving to death, slowly but surely. I'm sure you're finally getting a nice bitter taste of hardship," He heard fondness in the tone now, and a hand began to caress at his head, provoking the dreadful pounding inside. "But not enough, I'm afraid. You're still so rebellious, so arrogant. That'll soon change, I promise."_

_Ludwig turned on his side and punched the russian in the face. Or, at least he would have if his muscles had listened to him. Instead he dragged one arm across the dusty concrete weakly about a foot. The pathetic motion simply seemed to amuse the Russian. He felt his braces get tugged one by one down his shoulders to lie limp on the floor, and felt the bump of a metal tube drag at the hem of his slackened trousers._

_Ludwig had wondered if he wasn't going to survive this time. If he had committed his final, unforgivable sin, and the only one capable of combating such inexcusable acts was going to perform much worse. He'd expected brutality until the few dredges of independence inside him died, and he simply fell down and faded away. A fallen king, a fallen empire and a fallen man._

_But Ludwig became acutely more aware, as he sped up his blinking to force clarity into his head, that he hadn't felt a single strike yet. And the cold was getting more intense around his waist. Ivan had torn his pants gently down his legs to his ankles, to bunch restrictingly at his boots and to expose him to the world._

"_W-…what are… you doing..?" Came a dizzy, demanding slur, shifting his arms and shoulders in the first motions to prepare to lift himself. He had already understood and experienced humiliation, but it was childish and dismal to actually force nakedness on the German man. Not that Ivan wasn't cruel or childish. And he'd be damned if he let the damn Russian cause him any more blasted shame than necessary._

_He twisted his body, face just as twisted but in fury and pain, squinting back at the man above him with a complaint on his lips. "Don't fucking-!..."_

_But the biting complaint had died on Ludwig's tongue as he noticed the empty, lustrous look on the man's face. Surely he didn't intend…? In his condition? In either of their condition? From this intimate spot on the floor Ludwig could notice that even Ivan himself was heavily bandaged from not-too-long-ago battles. He had literally torn right to Ludwig's capital afterall. They were both half dead and he wanted…? He intended…?_

_Ludwig snarled, twisting around and trying to wrestle furiously at the hands suddenly wandering at his thighs. "The FUCK do you think you're doing?" He shouted, even though the violent motions made his world spin and spots appear in his vision._

_Ivan slammed him back down, twisting him forcefully back onto his front and grinding them close. There was quiet giggling and Ludwig kept struggling, unwilling to bow down to course his own violation._

_The German's scandalized grunts, pained cries and shocked chokes rang through the otherwise silent evening well into the night._

* * *

This actually took a couple of days to write - I didn't really have much of an agenda other than a real vague idea of the pairing/interaction between the two. I didn't really know where it was going, I was really worried I wouldn't be able to tie it together nicely. It's also awkward using the name 'Ivan' because that was the petname for Russians, like 'Tommies' for Briton's and 'Krauts' for Germans. Using 'the russian, he and Ivan' began to feel really repetitive. I also wanted to portray Germany has being alot less disorientated and a lot more stoic in this fic. He had fight in him, he was going to survive, he was going to tolerate brutality and come out alive.

But the biggest thing that I wanted to portray was that straight after Germany's surrender and the Allie's occupation, Russians committed alot of rape even to survivors of the Holocaust.


	2. Chapter 2

He woke to intense cold, to wracking shivers. Rope bound around his thick wrists creaked as his weight shifted from unconscious to conscious, groaning softly as he came round. It only took the man a few seconds to notice where he was, his shakey breath coming out in little bursts of fog that tickled his face with moisture. The floor was concrete, tiny shards bit harmlessly into his feet. His head felt a little wet and there was dried water on his face that he couldn't remember why.

He had actually become unfortunately familiar to this way of waking. Naked, sometimes wet from blood or water or sweat, rope or some form of bondage holding him in place and in a very comprising position. He could still feel the reassuring grip of semi-fresh bandages, and his 'favourite' piece of cloth was tied around his eyes, smelling of weeks of salt. Being blind only enhanced his paranoia as he stood uncertainly, not knowing if it was day or night, or long how he had been knocked unconscious. He felt blonde strands tickle the bridge of his nose as he hung his head a little to keep calm, reminding himself he wouldn't have to wait long.

Glass crunched loudly to his left, and Ludwig's head whipped up, feet shuffling a little as he tried to focus. He felt the muscles in his stomach squeezed a little in anxiety and the cold, blindfolded head turning this way and that in the general direction of the glass.

"Hello Ludwig." Came a fond sigh, and a leather hand caressed from his arm down to his flank, the whispering gesture emitted another shudder.

Months ago, Ludwig may have snapped at him, or given him a cool air of disinterest. He was Germany afterall. But Ivan had been right – the fight had been beaten out of him.

Eventually.

Ivan admired the powerful man he had captured, muscles stretched and hard from the straining of the rope. Trailed a hand up a bandaged thigh which he had cut only the other day, watching the muscles around his hand harden in an effort not to recoil. He tilted his head as he watched lovingly at his toy panted slightly, moist air fogging and tickling at the pale, cold-flushed face. Ivan wondered…was this silence comforting or worrying for little Ludwig?

"I still have your brother," Ivan spoke experimentally, deciding maybe a little chitchat would loosen him up. Ludwig's throat worked in a thick swallow, a sign that he'd got his attention, and Ludwig knew exactly were his brother was already. "He's entirely mine so he's in a far worse condition, but I think he felt better when I said you missed him. If only I could convince the others to let me have _you_ as well…"

Lips grazed at Ludwig's collarbone and he gasped, before the lips changed direction and coaxed at his totally unresponsive ones, kissing with deadly slowness at the corners and even tugging a little. This disjointed, loving affection was just the beginning of a tirade and Ludwig knew it.

"You should be grateful," Ivan went on. "If you hadn't been so entertaining, he'd be dead. You are keeping your brother alive by behaving. He'd be so proud of you."

Ludwig felt something inside his chest tighten, and he groaned softly in hatred. Yes, he had had the fight beaten out of him, but even when he had the energy to struggle, he tried not to. Because where ever Gilbert was, alone, bound, near-dead in the middle of some winter wasteland, as long as he was good enough for the Ivan he could spare Gilbert a fraction of suffering.

But he didn't want to call it behaving. He tolerated this because he had to. No one was going to save him, no one cared he was being systematically violated. Which made it all the more worse that Ludwig had been led to participate in it, and had somehow become very aroused many times more.

Ivan tried to look for the signs of the man's inner turmoil in his body, since the eyes would have been the best place but had challengingly been obscured. Fingers curled around the dimensions of his toy, over the cheekbones and the distinct jaw, down the steadiness of the neck and curving over the built pectoral. He had really begun to adore Ludwig's body. So seemingly inpenetrable and unstoppable, pale muscles hard and stretched. But on the other side of it, those stretched muscles were tight and ready to split open; to quiver and contract; could bloom some of the most beautiful colours. And so humble too, so easy to overcome if Ivan had the right tools.

Ivan'd beaten and tamed a dangerous, wounded beast that would now cower in his shadow if he so desired. Was this revenge? Maybe. But Ivan also considered it a service. Even a mutual bond.

The pipe in his hand wandered dangerously to tap above Ludwig's groin, who visibly tensed in horror, despite the pipe trailing upwards over the dips in his stomach. This time Ivan hadn't decided to delve deeper than necessary, which he _had_ once before. Ludwig was not ready to forget that experience. It disconnected and Ivan circled a little, the pipe falling softly onto Ludwig's bunched shoulderblades and dragging down the curve of his back, the rust scratching stimulatingly at the pale skin, and Ivan was _delighted_ as the muscles of Ludwig's back quivered in its wake.

Ivan didn't love Ludwig because he was _perfect._ Nothing about him was perfect. But what Ludwig was was _ideal_. Ivan loved that even in his inperfect state, he had plenty distance to fall into destruction. And Ivan _loved_ destroying. Fact was, his toy was already so worn out there was very little to mar anymore. Didn't make him any less fun though.

"You're so good, Ludwig." Ivan hummed, standing behind him and dragged back his head by putting a pushing palm on his forehead, so that his head was bent back uncomfortably. He spied a little crease in the skin just above the blindfold, a little bit of proof that little Ludwig had a worried, bated expression in his eyes. Ivan towered over that face and drank in the anxious breathing, the little tell-tales of squirming as Ludwig found himself caught between fear and excitement, and a little bit of rage.

"It's just you and me now," Ivan sighed softly, gazing down. Gloved fingers lingered by firm lips as Ivan debated whether to explore, though changing his mind and trailing them up Ludwig's face to tug a little of the worn blindfold. The material creased and revealed a single blue eye, bright and alive and blinking back into clarity in the dimness. It connected with the lucid violet of Ivan's, and there was a steady uncertainty. The same piercing blues Ivan had seen ruthless malice, had seen bright worry; had seen them tainted by blood or awash with tears. Ivan's thumb caressed at Ludwig's cheekbone, the both of them still staring in their precarious position. "It's just you and me. Alone in the night and endless snow. You feel lonely, da? I did too. But don't fret dear Ludwig, you have me."

Ludwig silently listened, not knowing an appropriate response. Existing with Ivan….it was like being around taut piano wire. One harsh movement and it would snap the wire, releasing all the ridiculously vicious tension until he gets sliced open. Whatever games or cruelty Ivan wanted to perform, Ludwig could do nothing but wait and wait for it. Could only listen to the insane Russian ramble on.

"This special," Ivan said, but his voice had an edge of finality to it. Ludwig paid more attention now, breath bated as he stared up with his one visible eye. "Together we can be so great. The Motherland and the Fatherland, da? It's a union that was always going to happen." The adoration in the Russian's eyes was fading and giving way to something far emptier, far firmer. Ludwig looked between his eyes desperately, thinking frantically of what to say to bring that back and to delay the evitable just a little longer. "But you don't want to become one with me, do you? No one ever does…I ask and ask but everyone always gets mean or runs away. So I have to force you." Ivan looked bordering on deranged now, expression spaced out and _serious_.

Ivan's hands stopped cradling Ludwig's head and instead bent to retrieve his pipe, meeting Ludwig's eyes who desperately tried to turn his face through his bound arms to facially plead, or see what was going to happen. Ivan watched coldly as Ludwig's body began to shiver, saw some of the looser bandages fall a little. Eyes raked over the bruises of all different sizes and colours; the cuts and grazes that littered his skin; the off-white wrappings from glass or metal shards or some vicious object.

In the darkness the German's eyes were wide and chest panting, as if he had only just remembered how battered he was, muscles undulating with the tension. But Ivan ignored it, reaching forward and tugging the bit of blindfold to hide panicking eyes. Again he was just a powerful, sweating, panting German man, no eyes and no emotions and no humanity, just a living breathing object. One that wouldn't work properly, _wouldn't do exactly what he wanted._ The man let out a louder pant as the fear must've been building up, ears pricked for the rusty pipe that slid along the floor as it was lifted up.

_If only you had done what you had told. If only you hadn't betrayed our friendship. If only you hadn't tried to destroy everything around you without noticing what the consequences were going to be. If you would just be behave, you wouldn't have to be punished. If seeing you like this didn't excite and hurt me so much._

"I'm sorry." Ivan apologised softly, face calm but tears on his cheeks, pipe going up over his head and the faucet hanging in the air at the apex of the swing. The body in front of him jumped and shivered, and the face's mouth opened a little with a quiver and that crease was back on its forehead again, hands tightening into fists above the rope.

The pipe came down.


End file.
